Time out!

It's been raining, Raining hard.
Surfaces are slick, roller skating is not optimal. I look outside my window and curse the expensive rink down the road.
The garage isn't cutting it, there is not enough room for knee slides or any other exciting executions. So I wait.

I've been feeling a bit beaten down by this whole affair. Will I ever have the ease and grace of the other girls?
Yes, yes, practice, practice. But, you know... There are moments when the steep gradient of skill that lays before me, seems like a Mt Everest of my very own.

So, while it rains. I am writing music, giving my little korg Kaosilliator a real work out. Perhaps, while I wait for blue skies I can post music instead?

Also I send a "Hi" out to Derby Dan, the first person to leave a message on my blog. Yay to you!

-D.

Just Say No?

On the weekend I hung out at my personal skating rink (private schools' old basketball/tennis/netball courts). It seems that learning to skate is a "two steps forward, one step back" then alternating, affair. Each time I put on my skates I feel a bit scared, and have to pinwheel around for a lap or two before I calm down. Fear is indeed a bitch, and a bitch wholeheartedly set on making you quit. I want to quit. I really do.
      This whole idea to become a Roller Derby Chic seems totally ridiculous, and I should grow up and stop being silly. Perhaps it is times like this that I get to use my stubborn streak for the greater good.  Perhaps every trait we have, whether good or bad, has it's use.  Stubbornness is usually viewed in a bad way, just now I read a quote "Stubbornness is the strength of the weak" , well yes, it can be. But the dude who wrote that was living in a time that was without Roller Derby. So maybe he would  agree with me, if he was still kicking in the 21st century.
      I thought it might be a good idea to approach these 8 wheels of death with a more relaxed view. So, I rolled a joint. Now, before I go any further I have to explain my relationship with marijuana. We are not friends, we are very casual acquaintance's. For example, if I saw MJ at a party, we would smile and nod at each other, we wouldn't talk. It's not that we had a falling out or anything, we just run in different circles. There have been times when we have been shoulder to shoulder, you know, MJ has friends that are my friends too, and so we politely say "hi" and make stilted conversation, making us both slightly uncomfortable, but that's about it.
      I sat on the ground, all padded up and had a bit of a talk with MJ. It was a nice sunny day, blue skies and lots of birds and butterflies around. It was lovely... Until I stood up. Holy Shit, bad idea.
Relaxed? Yes, but totally an utterly unequipped to deal with being on wheels. Instead of expected ease and comfort, I was hyper aware of how bloody foreign it is to have wheels stuck on the souls of your feet. Although I was happy to be outside and really enjoying the fresh air and wildlife that surrounded me, I was deep in 'body paranoia'. Forgetting about that element of MJ was a very silly mistake on my part, and from there on in the afternoon took a very different path.
      No longer interested in trying to skate, I found myself contemplating the essence of Life. Not the meaning (that is impossible and best left to people who want to fry their brains, or argue into the wee hours at parties), but the reason it exists, the How, more than the Why. I came to the conclusion that their are two forces in the Universe. The names of those two forces are arbitrary; light, dark; up, down; left, right; good, evil ( that one is a stupid one). And these two forces push up against one another, and right in the middle of them, in the friction of those two elements, Life happens.
       While standing (albeit in a wobbly way) , I began to see and feel those two forces, in and around me. Outside of me I felt the wind, it was blowing from the East, and I saw this fat bodied butterfly, small, with brown and white spots. It was battling against the breeze. I marveled at the effort it made to go forward. Most of time it seemed to be getting pushed backwards, but then, the breeze would drop slightly and it's would advance just a few inches diagonally. It's furry body bobbing away against an invisible force. I watched that butterfly battle, and I mean battle with every inch of it's tiny self. I gingerly skated beside it , engrossed in a scene I would normally not even pay much attention to. I don't know how long I watched, but it was long enough to question why it didn't just turn around and let the wind take it somewhere. It must have been totally knackered as it made it's way past the key of the basketball court, then to the 3 point line. Where the fuck was it going? Through the link fence, then I realised it did have an agenda, past the courts there is a fine looking fig tree, shady, cool and I guess the place to be if you are a butterfly. It was nearly under the foliage when a strong wind blew it back into the courts. I felt like I was watching the climax of this little things life ( given they don't live long). I was cheering for it (on the inside) willing it to make it to that tree. Then the wind abated a few seconds and the butterfly made last ditch attempt at the fig tree, lifting up over the fence and in a smooth arc landing into the greenery and out of my sight.
      It seems a little silly now, but in that moment I felt a kind of elation. If that little creature can push against the wind with all it's might, at it's goal and not take the easy route (by turning the hell around and go cruising) then shit... So can I. Surely, that butterfly was being stubborn, or focused, I don't know if there is really a difference sometimes.
       Unfortunately I was way too stoned to do anything about it at the time. I laid, flat out on the court, skates still on my feet and stared up at a bank of cotton wool clouds. One looked like a cartoony dog with comically long ears, the one that followed was an old school roller skate. I shit you not.

Sucking Hard on Eight Wheels

I didn't want to go to the Fresh Meat Intake meeting at the local skate rink. Every inch of me wanted to stay home and stare daggers at my skates. Emblems of my inadequacy.

But I found myself packing a shoulder bag with all my newly bought skating accoutrement. As if my body had made a decision to go and didn't give a shit about the screaming voice yelling "NO NO NO". I seriously watched my arms and legs move without me. It felt like being demoted to backseat while watching the car drive along with invisible hands on the wheel.

Even riding my bicycle to the rink felt strange.

On my arrival I met some women, tatt's and dyed hair, their Roller Derby names emblazoned across team t-shirts. I filled out forms; ticked boxes; read rules and regulations. I became Fresh Meat , at least on paper. But unfortunately for me, my eagerness was outdone by the Master Cleanse I was in the middle of. My body was so determined that it forgot to pay attention to any of the advice on my brain. Don't try and do a skating workout after cleansing for 7 days.
What the hell was I doing!?
Orders were being barked out "ONE KNEE SLIDE, PLOUGH STOP, 180 SLIDE.
I wanted to scream back... " Hold on a fucking second... I CAN'T SKATE"
Then big black spots drifted into my vision. I remember this feeling. It's a precursor to fainting.
Last time it happened I was 18 and practising with the metal band I use to sing for, Judas Priest covers in a hot band room = fainting.

One of the other Fresh Meat girls asked me if I was OK. I guess  the feeling of all the blood rushing from my face was obvious. Turned out she was a nurse, I told her I was cleansing and that I am a bloody idiot for trying. She told me to go sit down, and I did. Feeling pathetic and stupid all at the same time.
I spent the rest of the session watching the girls do their thing. Some of the seasoned girls sneered a little. It looked as if I had given up to them. I felt miserable.
Leaving that rink wasn't the high I had thought it would be. I cursed my stupidity of even trying to skate. My ride home was slow and full of internal bickering and even a little self loathing.
But by the time I went to bed , I had a clear picture of what I must do to achieve my goal.
Skate, skate , skate.

The next day I wore my skates in the house. I mopped the floor in them. I cleaned the fridge, washed windows. I even navigated stairs, slowly and ever so carefully balanced on the toe stops. These wheels were not going to beat me.

Last weekend was a long weekend. I dragged my gear to Mums' house. It is close to the school by brother use to go to. I had already asked him what surfaces were like about his old school.
Is there smooth bitumen? Concrete? Is there smooth concrete? Paving? Huh? Can I skate there?
"There are heaps of places" he answered and even drove me into the teachers carpark, defying the "PRIVATE- DO NOT ENTER" sign.
My brother and I walked across the oval,  him with his red kelpie bounding after a bald tennis ball, me with my gear and a wood handled broom.
Out past the rubber floored playground, and the browning grass of a shot put and discus circles stood the rarely used basketball/tennis courts (x2!). Surrounded in chain link I crossed my fingers it was unlocked and smooth. And sure enough it was.
Concrete, painted green to poorly mimic grass. It was ugly, but utterly perfect for my needs.

I walked around, sweeping Paddlepop sticks, seed pods and other dangers from the dual courts.
It may not seem very exciting, but it was. I felt like I had struck skating gold. This big, flat, oddly green space, all mine, and free.
The only danger was being told to leave by the weekend teachers that kept an eye on the boarder population. Apart from that I felt as if the long weekend stretched out before me, brimming with opportunity and glee.

Then as soon as I got the gear on that bloody fear came back. Uncertainty buckled my legs and I became scared of every minute crack in the court. My brother audibly inhaled through clenched teeth as a rogue seed pod locked up a skate wheel, and set me on my arse with painful punctuation. This concrete was harder than my garage floor... Was that possible?

The resolve I felt the other day slipped from me. After my brother left, I concentrated on trying relax, an oxymoron if ever there was one.
Sore, scared and sad I untied my skates, picked up my broom and walked back to Mums.
     When I limped in through the door, Mum asked me how I went, I gather the look on my face said it all. She just smiled at me in the way only a mum can, and said " You have always mastered anything you put your mind to". Mum's are great for things like that. After the heat of the day had passed, Mum drove me back down to my personal arena. She took the broom from my hands
"You get your stuff on, I will sweep, otherwise you will be here all day"
She swept and I pinwheeled my way around the area's she had cleared of debris. Here I was, a woman nearing middle age, circling her mum in new skates, as if I she was 9 years old. It was funny and sweet in it's timelessness.
      After she was through with sweeping, she gave me a smile and wave and left me to my own devices. I was determined to stay on this court till sunset, so I had about 4 hours to get somewhere. I filled up by water bottle from the low drinking spigots, placed all my things in the shady corner of my rink, pulled my iPod out of my bag and pressed play.
    

Concrete is your Friend

Fear is a funny thing. Not funny "ha ha", funny in that it can change everything. It can make the easy hard; the simple complicated; the natural foreign and obtuse. Fear ( I am beginning to understand) had taken up house in me. When the hell did that happen?

I am getting ahead of myself a little.
Let me go back a bit.

When my skate swag arrived, I unpacked it in an eager yet precise way; each item was held, or should I say caressed;  carefully laid out and opened. No plastic was ripped with teeth, no cardboard torn with excited fingers. Once each item was unwrapped, I reveled in the smell of plastic off-gassing and the oily aroma of new leather. I promptly boiled water for my mouth guard , sucked  the warm polymer into a tight tooth hug. And sat, with my legs splayed out , regarding my RD booty with awe and trepidation. I did not lace up straight away. Instead I ran my fingers over leather stitching and nylon trucks. I envisioned the skates beaten and worn into the comfort of a second skin, but I did not put them on.
    It took 2 days to pluck up the courage to do that.
Finally, I had enough of them, sitting like movie props against the wall in my room.
I do believe I actually spoke outloud to myself "RIGHTO THEN" or something along those lines. Placed my hands on my hips and stared down at those matte leather beauties and exhaled (as you do in such moment) Then I began velcroing bits onto my body
Knee pads
Elbow pads
Wrist pads
Take wrist pads off as it's impossible to negotiate the skates with them on
Skates, Laces.
Wrist Pads.
Helmet
(I left my mouth guard out, I thought that would be overkill for my first outing)

I am sitting on my bed, it's a high bed, an old Victorian cast iron number. It creaks as I roll the skates back an forth on the tiled floor, swinging my legs. They are fucking fast; faster that Christine Bonds; faster than 1992 era RollerBlades.
What the hell am I doing?!
I stand up and feel fear leap into my belly and claw at it. My feet are hijacked and no longer reliable. Immediately I sit back on my bed and undo my chin strap.
I sigh, and it feels like I am deflating.
For a moment there is an inner calamity. I want to be a Roller Derby Girl, but in those few seconds of rolling my feet back and forth, I also realised just how much work I had ahead of me.
...I took the skates off.

It took another day of those skates sitting there for me to try again. This time I didn't swing my legs from the bed to the tiles, I stood straight up and gingerly made my way along the edge of the bed to the hall outside my room. Bent over like an old lady, staring at the ground 4 inches infront of my skates... Not the best form I know.
I made it to the carport, smooth concrete awaited me there, and I quickly introduced it to my rump. Hitting the ground with a deft thud and groan. I got up onto my hands and knees negotiating a wobbly ascent back onto my wheels, sending myself on a comical over correction that landed me back onto my rear and then spread eagled looking up at the garage rafters.
This scene replayed itself over the next few minutes. I made it back to my room and took the skates off, feeling beaten and way out of my comfort zone. But as I unlaced my boots and rubbed my sore parts, I realised that I had learned my first valuable lesson...The fear of falling, is worse than falling itself.

So with this in mind the very next day, after kitting up and making my way back to the garage, I began my practise by throwing myself on the ground. I splayed, twisted, skidded, flopped, rolled and scrapped myself about on that garage floor until the feeling of hitting hard concrete was silly and fun. When I finally stopped, and stood up on my 8 wheels, the trepidation of falling, that barbed fear, had diminished, not gone, I think that would be asking too much. Instead it had faded, from a blood red dread, to a rosey pink hue.

It was a strange kind of genius.

I had 5 days until Fresh Meat intake.
 

Once Upon a Time, in the 70's

I can remember watching Roller Derby on the telly, on the weekends after cartoons. I would sit in a velour beanbag, or lay on my belly propped up by sharp prepubescent elbows, absorbed in the splendour of it all. Tough looking women, flipping over the padded rails, hip checking each other as they flew around the banked wooden track. Amazons on wheels.
      It's actually surprising I didn't hassle my parents for roller skates, maybe I did but have forgotten about, either way, I never learned to skate as kid. The first time I ever donned a pair was in high school, it was a few weeks after I had my appendix out. I can remember it clearly as I was hanging out with a girl I had a crush on ( Christine Bond, you were gorgeous) . I have no idea what happened to her, her parents moved, and like all selfish parents, they took her too. That is beside the point, the point being, Christine had skates, the kind you strap onto your runner with a leather strap and buckle. I pinwheeled my arms about, down her driveway and street, falling over and feeling my stitches pull and painfully point out the stupidity of what I was doing. Maybe 10 minutes is all I got, I felt foolish and clumsy, and sat on the grass of the nature strip and watched Christine glide about as if on a layer of Vaseline.
     Then came Roller Blades, I got a pair in the early 90's and persisted with them while living in Melbourne, I wanted to be the girl who could blade down the Esplanade in St Kilda, dodging weekend traffic and rubberneckers, I wanted to wear short shorts with my Discman pounding beats through orange foam earphones. I never was though, instead I had to be content with being on wheels without grace. Stopping for me, consisted of reaching out for a lamp post or aiming for grass and going from a roll to a stuttered jog on it, hoping inertia didn't outweigh the amount of lawn I had. I did try though, each weekend I would inhabit a carpark on Victoria Parade and spend hours doing laps, by myself, or sometimes with my boyfriend. But years past, and the blades found their way to the bottom of a box and never resurfaced.

Life is funny though. It hiccups idea's, here and there, repeating things,  reminding you of an old dream or promise, or maybe just a wish. Roller Derby hiccuped for me in the early 2003. I was a long way away from Christine Bonds house, or the Esplanade, I was in Brooklyn, NY. I started to see pictures of a new breed of Roller Derby. Betty Paige haircuts, tattoos, fishnets, a different kind of tough , of rockabilly sexiness on 8 wheels. I wanted in.
      Unfortunately  the fear of injury and not being exactly of legal status (not exactly being, not at all) I found that it was pretty much impossible for me to try out for the leagues in NYC. I honestly believed that was going to be my final Roller Derby hiccup, no more dreaming about it, too old... Let it go.
       But life being the crazy thing that it is, I find myself back in Australia, feeling odd about leaving NYC ( because I fucking loved it) and finding myself in a small regional town, without friends and feeling more than a little strange after being overseas for near on 9 years. Here I am. Then, not very long ago, my mum hands me a flier , for of ALL things... A Roller Derby bout, Right here, in this little town, they have fucking ROLLER DERBY.
      What can I say, it was like bells rang in my head, as corny as that sounds, it really was how it seemed. Being away for so long has made me feel a bit like a stranger in my own country. I feel... Isolated, sad, depressed even, some days. Pining for Brooklyn, wishing with all my heart I was back amongst the people I missed. I need this. I need a way of cracking myself open, of letting this little town in. So I went online. I found out when they have FRESH MEAT intake.  Then I researched skates, I've clicked on links, scribbled prices, brands, opinions, recommendations. Armed with that, I found a store in Sydney, run by a RD chick, and I clicked out my order for my first Roller Derby swag.

     I counted down the days of the 'estimated delivery time' , I waited on the dewy lawn at 9am ( I know my delivery dude that well) and sure enough, his white van pulled up and he didn't even need to honk, I was a kid again. Lugging that big box up my stairs was the most exciting thing that has happened to me in some time. Opening that box was even better. It was important enough for me to feel I should whip out my camera. I can't say I didn't feel a little silly taking pictures of myself opening a box, I did feel silly. But I didn't care. I was just sure that it was an important moment. Maybe I have a lot riding on these 8 wheels. As I write I am beginning to understand that. These wheels are going to help me create a new life for myself. Sometimes we need an 'in' , something to carry us through , a distraction or an envelope to shove our shit into. I think that is what I need. A kind of transport, to get my heart out of Brooklyn, and back into me. Something to coax my heart back... Something to fall in love with.